âYour second-handâŚoh, you know, I wouldnât have even realized if you didnât tell me. I used to get my older cousinâs old clothes all the time. And she would get them from her older sister. She still sometimes calls and asks me for my size in shirts to see if I want any of her old clothesâŚâ Margot admitted. âSorry, that was probably way more information than you wanted to know,â She soon realized and pursed her lips in response as she listened to his suggestion instead.
ââŚA donut, okay yeah. That does sound like it could hit the spot,â She agreed. âWhat are you planning on getting?â
  âAt least you know who used the clothes, ladyâ, Jett commented with a little bitter chuckle, âso it ainât bother you, huh? You like wearing her clothes even if theyâre old?â, he questions. The woman didnât seem to need old clothes, in fact it looked like she could afford some new one but again, compared to him... everybody looked like coming from Beverly Hills. â âts okayâ, he shrugged, his attention diverting back tot he food.
The question hit him in the gut ( ironically ) and he purses his lips, trying to not show how that kind of questions affect him and he returns the smile in a rather fake way, at this point of his life, heâs done pretending.  âWell, I just came to watch the sweet tooth parade âcause there isnât a way I can afford anythingâ, he comments as his hands go into his pockets and pull out the old wasted lining of his jeans, completely empty, âone of the little cons of living in the streetsâ.
âHi, excuse me, I donât mean to bother you, but would you mind helping me really quickly?â Margot asked. She scanned the display of colorful donuts and other pastries in front of her, from lemon filled to small pastries, the bakery seemed to have a dessert of every color. âHave you eaten here before? IâŚitâs been a difficult past few days for me so I thought Iâd stop in and pick up something sweet for me and my wife butâŚIâve never been here before so Iâm not sure whatâs best to get,â She explained. âWhat do you thinkâŚone of those giant chocolate chip cookies? Or one of those pink donuts with sprinkles? Or should I get something a little less sweet, like banana bread?â
  Jett looked through the glass with dead yet hopeful eyes at all the colors of the donuts and such; while he stood with a relaxed pose with hands in his pockets, he was salivating ridiculously, which could be easily noticed by how frequently he licked his lips without even batting an eyelash. He turned his head to the woman speaking to him, both happy and upset that she interrupted his pastry fantasy. Shit, everything she said sounded so so GOOD and honestly he wouldâve said âhey, pick all of those!â, but... whatever, yâknow?
  âFirst of all, thank you, for not noticing my second-hand jacket that hasnât been washed in ages or my greasy hair and to answer your question...â, but his stomach grumbled loudly in response, â...this lilâ shitâ, Jett grumbled, â...huh, I have never tried any of these things, but if I had to pick Iâd go for the donut, a classicâ.
  âAnother day, another chance for a miserable death, ainât I right, beauts?â
Jett sat at a table near the stage picking SURPRISINGLYÂ with no apparent hunger; the bags under his eyes hung lower than usual and he still had en eye slightly swollen and cuts across his skin poorly covered with band aids of all sizes and colors. Brown eyes meet the blonde mane nearby. Hey, at least he managed to sneak out with the mutants outbreak, gods know what the Doves wouldâve done to him if he had stayed; but now he was afraid, well... no, he was TERRIFIED, he had barely been out doing his usual magic tricks and sneaking food out of little marts; runaway Jetthawk had been hiding all this time with his paranoia topping anything else he could feel. Now he looked tiredly at the dancer and allowing himself some peace with one of the very very few people he could count as a friend (Â hopefully ).
âHowâs the fun around here doing anyways? Have the Doves crashed in here or something?â
âIâm not sure,â he mumbles. Theyâd robbed the twinkling and immortal amusement from his copper eyes and left him with a vacant stare dull like two old pennies. And when he spoke, through a frothing mix of bile and blood, he couldnât recognize the hoarse sound as his own voice. Just when he thought sleep deprivation had been bad, a high-voltage form of âtherapyâ came along to teach him that all this time: the Doves had been holding back on him.
What a bunch of jerks.Â
âSave the welcome party. Iâll be out of your hair soon, kid,â he says. âIâm on unofficial death row.â Gilbertâs gaze travels along the bruises adorning his new cellmateâs face. He couldnât see very clearly, his vision limited to blurry splotches of color that strangely made him feel at ease on deathâs door. âYou kill one scientist and all the sudden, they all throw a riot,â he adds. âOnce someone in the upper threat levels croaks, theyâre moving me over there to die. Guess thereâs nothing else to do here but wait, huh?â
With a yelp, he forces himself to roll onto his side so that the kid wouldnât see his eyes water. âSo, youâve had a cell all to yourself?â he says, voice stuffy. âI hope youâre into karaoke âcause the acoustics in here are terrific.âÂ
    âWell I cannot see ghosts, so Iâm sure as hell you ainât dead yetâ, the boy commented as he hopped back to his metallic bed after assuring the guy didnât... need any help? I mean, câmon, everybody here needed help, but at least Jett wasnât developing a very inappropriate afro due the electroshock therapy. His face remained plain as he kept his eyes on the other; he knew there were big chances that he got experimented on as well, but the years of mishandling had taught him how to endure the pain and not show it.
âYou can take the lower bunk, donât think youâd be able to climb to the top anywaysâ, he comments. âYou killed one of the Doves, huh? Did it feel good? Was it worth it? You managed to use your mutation or like... only the fists?â, Jett wondered with swollen eyes, thank the lack of sleep and very well served beat up the previous day. âIâve heard dying ainât that bad; no rush to experience it, but yâknow... they say it is a releaseâ, he shrugs trying to make the tension lighter.
He wasnât a bad person, but he could definitely see when others had it worse than him; Jett hesitated briefly but eventually ripped off one of the sleeves of his uniform before kneeling down next to the other and start cleaning off the sweat and the blood from his face. âAye, kinda lonely sometimes, but yeah good acoustics, I can sing my lungs out and yell garbage at the enforcers and nobody saying shit about it. I guess they donât think Iâm any good for their stupid experiments anywaysâ.
And no, for the first time, he wasnât talking about himself. The guards had thrown into his cell a mass of flesh and bones that resembled a human, but even for a street and crime experienced Jett, this was an awful view. It even smelled bad, but again... they barely got the chance to shower and living in the streets got you used to that; but no, this smelled more like stress, sweat, despair and... fried chicken? Oh, maybe they had given him some electroshock therapy or maybe one of the guards was having friend chicken for lunch.
   âOi!---- stranger, are you alive?â, he spoke from his own corner, his own eyes purple and baggy, his face dirty and some of his nails broken during the struggle while he was shoved into the tank. Carefully, the sly fox puts a foot down and crouched, approaches the man, poking his shoulder.
Nat Wolff + male + he/him + blood manipulationâ â â hey, is it just me or do you hear My Petersburg by Derek Klena playing in the distance ? oh, thatâs just Jett Hawkins, a 23 year old conman. according to my sources, i heard he can be true neutral and is cunning, but also detached. thatâs probably why they remind everyone of worn out sneakers, cheap halloween masks and callous hands so much ! anyway, whether or not theyâre neutral towards the supers, crystalline city is keeping a close eye on them !
DEATH TW, MURDER TW, BLOOD TW.
Downtown. It is late at night in the low sides of the city (another city) and blinking neon signs can be read from afar on a brick wall: PSYCHIC. LOVE POTIONS. PALM READING. RECIPE FOR SUCCESS.
A black slick Mercedes parks at the front and four men get out. Three of them are brutes, most likely they donât even know how to count. Then, another man, slightly older, but very well dressed and he shamelessly shows off a bunch of golden rings around his fingers.
A woman inside, sitting on a velvet red chair immediately recognizes the visitors and shoves her kid under a trap door. UH-OH, this is isnât good. HE DOESNâT OBEY, he is worried about his mother and as soon as he gets out, the massacre start; his mother tries to shield him and he remembers seeing blood drops flying around and then he screamed and a hit on the head left him unconscious. Jett wakes up and two men PLUS HIS MOTHER are on the floor dead, completely drained of blood and staining the walls of the shop permanently. HE... HE KILLED THEM, DIDNâT HE?  The boy was only SEVEN.
Nobody wants to be responsible of lilâJett , there were no other family members known and everybody played deaf and blind to what happened that night; so good boy goes into the system.
ClichÊ story: foster homes suck, he is the little and weak one, he gets pushed around; naturally he is not gonna make it because of his strength, so Jethro starts TRAINING HIS MIND INSTEAD. He becomes very observant, his thin frame helps him be quick and sly when he needs to and he discovers a particular affection towards poker cards when his caretaker and his friends fall asleep drunk mid-game. The kid sneaks into the kitchen to get some milk and to his foot stuck a Joker card, which he immediately adored.
The card became his token and little by little, snatching coins from under the couch and behind the fridge, Jett managed to buy his first deck of cards; of course they were old and a second-hand acquisition, but it was the first thing ever he got with his own money and OH BOY, he was excited.
Taking little trips very early when the caretaker was still asleep, Jett got the newspaperâs seller trust to take a peek at the Magic Corner, a magazine about basic magic tricks for kids and of course, he devoured all that had to do with cards and coins.
Time goes by and Jett is fourteen, he is tired of living under an iron fist and so, he packed his few things and left the house and the city to never go back. Â NOTHING AWAITED FOR HIM IN THERE AFTER ALL.
At first, he thought of heading towards Europe, an obvious choice for anybody who wanted to become a master of magic, but some bad decisions here and there caused him to run away to Crystalline City instead.
PERSONALITY & PRESENT
While Jett really enjoyed magic and overall, tricking people, his biggest passion was SURVIVING. Sometimes being a conman wasnât enough, specially with all the competition around the city, so sometimes, he would have to end up doing some side-jobs like working on delivery ( of illegal stuff of course ) or sneaking in to make a little robbery for someone else. None of this made him proud, even though he always talks loud about his thief abilities.
Yâknow, rough past and cynical attitude. Jett didnât really know kindness through his life and it shows. He doesnât trust easily and wonât do anything that doesnât benefit him in some way. A True Neutral at heart.
Sleeping in shelters, couches or alleys, the boy is always on the look for his next gold and the next place he will use as temporary room. He hates feeling like a charity case and so, will rarely accept anything if he didnât work for it or gained it in a bet.
Long ago, when his mother was still alive, he heard her talk through the phone about him âhaving the genesâ , whatever that meant is still unknown to Jett , but he REALLY hopes is not an illness or something like that.
He is very observant, able to use the deductive method to read you up and down; is this result of his brains? His years facing the streets? Is he actually a psychic unlike his mother? Nobody knows, not even him, but THANKS GOD his good instincts, because that is what has kept him alive all these years. Iâd say it is idiotâs luck.
Comrade of everyone and friend of no one, he travels so much that he hasnât ever really bonded with someone and he says he doesnât need it, attachments mean weaknesses and he ainât up for having them.
He tends to accidentally guess stuff about people and to use humor as coping mechanism because he doesnât allow himself to let the others see him hurt.
At this point he doesnât really have an objective in life, just the day-by-day life.
His biggest phobia is BLOOD. He canât see it, smell it or feel it. He can even faint upon the sight of it because it recalls THE tragic event of his life.
He is a good kid, but always prone to cause some trouble if possible AND IF REWARDED.
He can do some Americaâs Got Talent card shit, but just not AS GOOD, otherwise heâd be famous and rich amirite?? But heâs in the process of learning. He can steal your wallet and watch without you noticing, though.
Doesnât have a phone, but the largest park during the mornings is a good place to find him, otherwise, he can be pretty much anywhere, most likely running away from something.
Recently he just escaped from the Dove prison and is pretty paranoid, scared and alone.
HE MISSES HIS MOM. Lowkey hates happy families.
Idk thereâs a lot and I could go on forever, so next thing!
POWERS
Blood manipulation. He is not keen with it. While his mother tried to train him into it, he never had much of a chance to do something about it and after the horrible experience, he just decided to shut it down for good. His power exploded sometimes in moments of absolute fright or anger, causing his targets to get VERY low pressure or their blood to boil, things like that. Unknowingly to him, he has been using his power on himself to have a better resistance when running or doing parkour. HE HAS WOKEN UP COVERED IN BLOOD MORE THAN ONCE and he doesnât know why (possible connection right here!) and the situation terrifies him. While under a calm mood he cannot control anything bigger than a rat, letâs see what happens when he gets upset!
PLOTS / CONNECTIONS ( warning, I suck at these )
Friends. He has never had them, itâs time for a change.
The Royal and the Commoner. I am a sucker for opposites. This can be either romantic or platonic!
People he has / is / will work for. Can either be shady stuff or an actual honest job! ( consider he officially just finished middle school, but is very very street smart and actually can be wise?? Has done research on his own about stuff he is interested about )
Mentors. Teaching them to do bad things? To do good things?
Bad influence and good influence. Self-explaining.
Someone that has been using him for his power??
He likes hanging out in the universities and even sneaking into giant classes to pass the time even though he hardly understands a thing.
